Maybe that’s what I need,
The stars on my skin,
Somehow I need to find
Someway to get the stars to fall
Across this skin of mine
And mirror the patterns they cast
Across the sky.
Maybe then I can look
Upon myself and hope
That there is some sort
Of fortune or future in store for me.
I just know,
That you will be enough,
You will give me
The quiet afterthought,
The pleasant aftertaste,
When all I ever needed
Was just the thought and taste itself.
Is it okay, to shift and shuffle
Until I find the curves to fit in,
To settle wherever your skin welcomes me?
This is close,
Closer than I ever imagined being,
And still I want closer.
Like a moth than dances with the flames,
All I can do is hover as close as I can
Until the tips of my fingers are singed.
I want my hands to land
On places of your skin
Your clothes fail to cover.
The light curve off your arms
Exposed by your slipping cuffs,
The nape of your neck,
Peering through your loose collar,
The silvers of your complexion,
Spilling through the net of loose threads.
For someone so delicately simple,
You are still so exciting,
Not in a way that sets off an unforgiving blaze
But a warm, ebbing flame
Well, maybe not a flame,
For I fear that would mean you burn me out too quickly.
You’re the glow at the end of a cigarette,
You are quiet, methodical even
And I spend every moment trying,
To keep away the urge to breathe in deeper,
To tug you closer,
And so I pray,
“Do not wane,
Do not wane.”
I like your face,
Not for the way
It catches the light
But for the way
To find the words
That could come close
To perfectly describing
Every little feature,
Every blemish and line,
The light freckles,
And all those rippling wrinkles,
Underneath your smiling eyes.
I want to tell you
Now I must touch
For I feel the need,
This need to feel
The skin that sits on your skull.
So let me know,
If the words I have here
Are enough for you to see
That the moment I first saw
Your visage that I speak of
Was the time I planted some words as seeds.
And watched them grow into trees
With poems under every leaf.
You are the deep end
That I am not afraid to wade through
Because the waters you are made of
Do not let me drown
But surround me
Like an envelope
Wraps a letter.
There are pockets of air between us
But I can still feel your skin
For I am the words
That sit on the letter’s surface,
Lucky enough to graze you.
The space between
Your skin and mine
Will always be the greatest distance.
Even when only an inch of air separates us
I will still feel like you are miles away.
I think it’s because
You are truly far away from me now
And if I ever see you in front of me again
My mind would assume you were just a mirage.
And only the touch of your skin against mine
Would make me believe you were actually there.
No pattern of stars in the night sky can match
The design of scars and blemishes
That mark your skin.
So allow me to trace my fingers across them
And paint a picture of everything
The night skies envy.
If I have to put aside my words
Remove them from my mind
What is it that will remain?
Would my mind sit idle and still,
Layering the surface as thick as my skin?
Or would I simply think upon
All my emotions in another manner?
Like a writer turned artist
Where every one of my inhibitions
Turns to splatters of paint and color
Instead of words?
For my pen has been thrown away
And all that remains is a dusty canvas.